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Some say falling in love is a beautiful thing. But his touches no longer lingered on my skin, his hugs felt cold; the warmth was no longer there. Yet he loves me, he must. I did my best to ignore it - the way his gaze now shot daggers at me, rather than embrace me with nothing but love. I’d sit in front of my mirror, looking into eyes that no longer seemed to be mine, and lie. Spit nothing but false narratives that my mind - lonely and aching to be loved like he once did - made up in moments of solitude.
I felt as though I simply took up space; I was unwanted, unnecessary, and no longer loved. Yet somehow, I could not stop myself from painting the same painful grin on my face every day. It wasn’t there anymore, the infatuation. It had now been replaced by a cold and frigid hatred; masked by the obligation to uphold a reputation that had been stuck onto my back. Our back. I could feel my grasp on reality slowly slip out of my hand, falling into a void, never to be seen again. I truly believed that if I crafted the most beautiful of lies, It would become the truth. And now I see that I am foolish for thinking so.
No matter how many times I repeated it to myself, he didn’t love me. He never would. He’d never look at me like he once did - with the admiration that he once did. I’d never catch his glances in the middle of class, or feel his fingers brush against mine softly; for now, it was artificial, fake. He looked down at me, saw me as lesser. Joe Tazuna no longer loved me.
But they didn’t know, and that was all that was of importance to me. They believed it, the fake smiles and hugs that ended far too quick to hold any emotion. They turned a blind eye to the glares he’d shoot my way when I told him I loved him, or the pure disgust he’d try oh-so-hard to mask in his eyes. But I knew. Joe Tazuna felt nothing less than hatred towards me. But that was not the worst of it. The worst was when he’d look me in my eyes, and I’d feel remnants of the spark that I once felt, and then proceed to lie to me; crushing it all with but a few syllables.
Joe Tazuna felt like a tattoo ingrained on my mind. For I can still remember him waiting at my locker after school, back leaned against the metal as his face brightened at the sight of me. I’d giggle, and walk just a bit faster into the warm and tender embrace of my lover, the feeling of which was a distant memory now. He’d gone from waiting every day, no matter the duties I had or teachers who’d want to hold the class back, to every other day, to every week, to every month. His excuse was always the same: ‘Sara needs me to walk her home; she thinks she has a stalker.’ But he was a fool if he thought that I’d believe it. Joe Tazuna clearly felt nothing for me anymore, for he’d spit lies so fast and naturally that any other girl would believe him with no doubts whatsoever.
It hurt; he was so good to me until he wasn’t. I wished nothing more than to hold him against me again and have him reciprocate every ounce of love and tenderness I felt. To have him crave intimacy with me once more. But he wouldn’t. I would never make his face light up like Sara did, or make him stumble over his words like Ryoko. I will never be the reason he’d throw his head back and let out a cacophony of giggles, nor would I be the one he’d call at three in the morning, for no reason other than to hear their voice. Those spots were taken, yet I dared to call myself his lover, and he dared to call himself mine.
Joe Tazuna was not a bad man - or rather, that’s what I thought. From the moment I saw him first, I knew - or rather, assumed - that is boy had no hatred in him. That he could love everyone, despite their shortcomings. He was witty, constantly sharing a bright aura that seemed to make him untouchable, and had never failed to entertain his friends. Some days, as the clubs were packing up and the clock had rung five, you’d hear the unmistakable roar of laughter from our classroom, as Joe, Sara, and Ryoko occupied the now empty room. It seemed as though Joe Tazuna was on fire. Never once caught slipping. And maybe that is why I fell for him. But somehow, despite his good nature, I don’t think I will ever truly know if he fell for me.
My pillows - once stained with the scent of the brown-haired boy I fell in love with but a few months ago - were now soiled with uneven splotches of tear stains and mascara. I was his girlfriend, right? So why did I feel like nothing less than a middle schooler, with a crush on a boy I’d never met? He’d gone from looking at me with such warmth, his brown eyes reflecting the most intimate and most raw of feelings, the way his pale cheeks would burn up with a striking pink as a soft smile adorned his lips, to a blank stare - his warm brown eyes now dull and lustreless; the ghost of a scowl lingered upon his lips as every touch and feel felt as though we drifted further apart. I felt insane. It was as if everything had been moved out of place. Being in love with Joe Tazuna was like being under a trance - yet so vividly feeling the most beautiful lies and ugliest truths all of the time. But I’d still tell myself, repeating the words like a hymn until it felt burnt into the back of my mind - ‘he loves you. you are loved.’ A lie, but a comforting one nonetheless.
Some say falling in love is a beautiful thing; you plunge right into a sea of emotions, experiencing a neverending rush. But no one tells you what to do when it ends. Or rather, when the river runs dry.
So, as you may assume, that is why I’m here. Standing like a fool in my school uniform, the grip on my schoolbag causing my knuckles to turn white as the cool breeze flew against me. I pushed my flyaway hair behind my ear as his familiar silhouette walked closer towards me; a (fake) smile plastered on his lips as his eyes gave away the lack of emotion he felt towards. And with one hand in his pocket, he waved and jogged to where I stood in the park, the only thing illuminating our bodies was the streetlights that adorned the neighbourhood road.
‘Joe.’ I uttered, breathing out a puff of cool air as I resisted the urge to fall into his arms and weep. I was tired of lying, but I missed him. I still loved him.